Moments
by rye-the-random
Summary: DISCONTINUED. One hundred moments in Ginny's life. Based on fanon.
1. Admire

**a d m i r e**

_-his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad-_

Imagine, you watched him board the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. Imagine your big brother writes home and says he's best friends with Harry. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived! Imagine crying and sobbing at night, because you won't know him, and he's famous. Imagine wondering and thinking and being embarrassed. Imagine your elbow going into the butter dish and knocking your porridge bowl to the floor, just because he sat down next to you, or said _hello_.

Imagine you watch him go through a girlfriend and be peeved. You watch emotions flicker across his face like tides in the ocean. Imagine that you finally kiss him, you're his girlfriend, everything is perfect.

Think of it, just for one moment. You're his girl. The Chosen One's girlfriend. The one he loves. Talks to you. Jokes with you, kisses, holds you. Tells your brother to stuff it when he's being a prat. Then, just as fast as you received everything, it is ripped cruelly away from you. He is gone, chasing Merlin knows what, and you are left at a school under the serpent's tyranny. Imagine all you want is to know he's alive.

You can't stand it. You nearly go insane. You just want him back, his eyes, to be able to smell his neck again, and tease. You want things to go back like they used to be.

Imagine, think of it, if only for a second, that you are Ginny Weasley.


	2. Joke

**j o k e**

_-Did I mention I'm resigning, minister?-_

BAM!

"Confringo!"

Slam!

Jets of light, falling bodies. Your thoughts swirl impractically like the fog in which you stand, wand slashing, spells flying like fireworks.

Who's dead? you wonder, where's Harry? Hermione, Neville, Luna? "Stupefy!" Are Ron and Bill and Charli and the twins alright? Where's Percy? I can't believe he came back! Shit! Dodge that!

"Avada-" screams a random masked man.

"Reducto!" you yell, your usually melodious voice full of fear and determination.

The death eater's mask flies off, and you catch a glimpse of his pockmarked face before he hits the dusty floor. It's Dolohov!

"Stupefy!"

A grunt, and he is out.

Percy sprints past you. "Rookwood!" he is screaming. You hear Rookwood give a giggle manically from behind a suit of armor. You shoot several stunning spells at him, but in the chaos, you miss.

Then, as fast as you can blink, Percy has disarmed Rookwood and is standing over him, and evil glint in his eyes and tears blossoming behind horn-rimmed glasses.

"Avada-" Percy's hawthorn wand is pointing at Rookwood's heart- wait! No! No one in your family's going to be a murderer is you can help it.

"Perc! No! Wot are you doing?!" you jerk his arm as he finishes the spell, and the green jet of light hits the floor near Rookwood's bulbous nose.

Percy lets out a roar of frustration and rips his arm away from your grasp.

"Joke…" he sobs, words punctuated by gasps for breath, "Fred, dead… all my fault- Rookwood, laughing…."

But you stopped listening after 'dead'. Your arm hanging in midair, he turns and finishes Rookwood, who had been trying to slink away.

Air seems to be being squeezed out of your lungs as though by an iron fist. Curses are shot past you, and the air ripples with magic and death, but you cannot move, you are frozen.

And part of you has been torn away, cruelly, without reason. And only because of a stupid war, and a pointless joke.


	3. Cold

**c o l d**

_-you are determined to hate him… and I understand-_

Of all the hard decisions in your life, you are sure of only one thing: you will _never _forgive Augustus Rookwood. Wherever he is now; laughing or pacing or jeering or hurting, wherever he is in the afterlife, you hope he can feel the hatred burning inside of you.

You hope he is a damned man, you know you would relish in seeing him tortured, cut into a thousand tiny pieces, buried alive…

This is all his fault, you know it is! He is the reason Bill and George never wear anything but black. He is the reason your mother can barely get out of bed in the mornings, the reason you find your father crying behind the chicken coop one afternoon, just because Dad can't stomach the grief anymore.

And most of all, he is the reason spring comes to everyone else. All but you. You are left in the bitter cold, your heart never thaws.

You will _die_ before you forgive him.


	4. Stories

**s t o r i e s**

_-like Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump-_

When you are younger, you love stories. You sit and listen as mum and dad tell you about Babbity Rabbity and the Three Brothers. Your father even shares some Muggle ones like Cinderella and Snow White- until mummy catches him and makes his ears go red.

You giggle all through Bill and Charlie's escapades in Hogwarts (how you so want to be there with them! You are young and naïve and truly believe in fairy tales.)

Then, a few years pass. You are older and wiser and falling in love. You know that no one can ever really live happily ever after, no matter what the story books say.

But then, oh _then_, he comes home, and You-Know-Who (even though he's gone, you can't bring yourself to say his name.) is gone, along with Fred. Your world slowly builds itself up again from the ashes.

You are engaged, then married. You are living your happily ever after, and telling your children to _always_ believe in stories.


	5. Roses

**r o s e s**

_-Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense-_

You're afraid and you're trembling. And this is an utterly pathetic way for you to be behaving. _Godric!_ _Why did I agree to be his girlfriend when I happen to suspect that he is overtly infatuated with that annoying, hyperactive leprechaun bloke Finnegan?_

Your hands are sweating and uncomfortable in the pockets of your jeans. _Where the hell is Dean? He said he'd meet me at four… _You anxiously check your watch again and then glance at the door. It's been six months, but you don't get those fireworks when you kiss. Also, it's really annoying when he pushes you through the portrait hole…

You know that Dean is just in denial about being gay (you always hated it when Bill said 'homo') and he's really just using you. _You_, of all people! Ginny Weasley! Feminist-arse-kicking-Quidditch-playing-'one of the boys' Ginny Weasley, is letting herself be used by some poufy artist boy from the London inner-city. So if you know all of this why are you getting those insufferable butterflies that make you feel like someone has walloped you in the gut with a broom handle? Why have you let him take advantage of you for six months?

You decide to go looking for him. After all, gay or not, he's an hour late.

You find him behind the Three Broomsticks, wrapped around Finnegan, hands roaming everywhere. You know he's just using you. So why do you feel like your hearts being squeezed into your throat, and your kneecaps turned to lead? You squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out the image.

He finally notices you standing in the shadows, and quickly separates himself from The Leprechaun. He quickly transfigures some old rocks into a bouquet of beautiful white roses, your favourite. He holds them out with an apologetic look on his face, while Finnegan tries to button his trousers.

You grasp the flowers by the stems, thorns digging into your palm, probably drawing blood.

Tears sting your eyes as you turn your back dead against Dean and drop the roses into the nearest dumpster.

And you walk away.


	6. Ugly

**u g l y **

_-Nobody loves a women because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.-_

"_C'mon_, Gin! That- is hideous. It's _grotesque_! It's-"

Harry's objections are quailed by your furious stare.

"_I_ don't care!" You say, picking up the poor quivering puppy. "It can't help it that it's only got one eye and it's face is sort of smashed-in looking…"

"Godric, Ginny, please, you're just making a rash decision because of the hormones. Reconsider. It's uglier than Crookshanks." You pay no attention as you set the poor little dog down on top of your swelled stomach.

You could really go for a giant cookie right now, with a lamb cabob simultaneously… _Damn eighth month hormones…_

"You wanted a dog, Potter." Harry winces. You haven't called him 'Potter' in several years. He knows he better shut up now. "And you said I could choose. I want this one. It's ugly, but I don't care."

Harry rolls his eyes as you turn around and say to the girl at the counter "I want this little one, please."

They discuss adoption laws, whilst Harry goes to talk to Ron, whom they left in the car upon Ginny's orders: _"I don't want him to start crying again, like that time we went to the Magical Menagerie when he was eight…"_

"So?" asks the hero's ginger friend, all six foot four inches of him squashed in the back seat of the Potter's small car, "how'd it go?"

Harry groans and leans back on the headrest in the drivers seat.

"Merlin, Ron, it's uglier than Crookshanks…"

Ron sniggers, "It could give you lessons, mate!" and has to dodge Harry's playful punch.


	7. Dark

**d a r k**

_-"For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night." William Shakespeare-_

You're innocently walking along. (And you really are innocent this time, too.) But then, as you're in the dark, with your wand lit, you forget about the trick step. You swear and sink down to your knees.

Your arms are flailing trying to keep your balance, and your wand flies out of your left.

"Mother fu-!"

A drawling voice interrupts your choice curse words.

"Language, Weaselette!"

"W-who's there?! D-d-declare yourself!" Dammit! Your voice is shaking. You haven't been in the dark alone since… you can't remember when.

"It is I, Draco Malfoy. And you are…" there is a sudden murmur of _Lumos_, and a lit wand is held to your nose, "Ginny Weasley."

"M-Malfoy." you spit. It would sound much more malicious if you weren't stuttering and your eyes weren't large as saucers.

He cackles, and for a moment he looks quite insane.

"Afraid of the dark, Weasley?"

"Not afraid of the dark," you're struggling to get out of the step, but you only sink further. "Afraid of what's in it."

You're up to your waist now. It is quite humiliating to be sunk up to your armpits in a trick stair, watching Draco 'Ferret' Malfoy gaze down his pompous pureblood nose at you.

He grins. "Well. Don't have to worry about that any more, do you Weasley? He's gone. It's finished. You won. Congratulations." and to your general astonishment, he pulls you out of the step.

"Thanks." you murmur, heart pounding with nervousness. Is he going to hex you? You don't have a wand.

His wand light goes out and something hits your forehead. Your wand!

"Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!" you call after him, wanting to know why he helped you.

You hear a quiet snicker and distant footsteps.

Bloody git.


	8. Foot

**f o o t**

_-"__A radical is a person with both feet firmly planted in the air.__" -Anonymous-_

You wake with a start. Your head and heart are pounding and your stomach is churning.

You lay there in the comfort of your bed, not opening your eyes.

_Merlin, what happened last night? And where the hell are my pajamas?_

You open your brown eyes to find five large toes in front of your face. You follow the toes- most predictably, they lead to a foot, which leads to a leg, which leads to the torso of your boyfriend, the Boy Who Defeated You-Know-Who. And he isn't wearing anything either.

_Fuck_, says that rational voice inside your head.

_That's sort of the point_, sniggers your sarcastic side.

Your heart sinks miserably- you gave away your virginity last night, and the worse part is you don't even remember it! _At least it was with Harry though. Plus he was probably a really good shag…_

You listen to Harry snore, studying his feet, and gazing about your fairly nice hotel room. Empty liquor bottles litter the carpeted floor and the quilt for the bed lays in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed.

The white satin sheets are twisted about you and Harry, so tight that every time you move it takes you a few minutes to re-adjust yourself and the sheets so that you can breathe.

You are really awake now, and poke Harry's foot. His leg twitches. You poke it again and he giggles in his sleep.

_He's ticklish? Ha!_

You reach for the bedside, long pale fingers gripping your cherry wand.

You point it at your snoring boyfriend and mutter an incantation.

Suddenly he is on the floor, thrashing about in the sheets, the tickling charm making him laugh so hard there is tears streaming out of his green eyes.

"All right, all right, I'm up, I'm up, Ginny! Mercy!"

You smirk and with a giggle poke his foot again, which has somehow, amidst all the thrashing, managed to stay on the bed.


	9. Revenge

**r e v e n g e**

_-Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge. -Paul Guaguin-_

"P-please, Harry!" you shudder and gasp. Damn feather, damn blindfold, damn being helpless and tied to a bed. Damn boyfriend. Damn idea.

You can feel him nip your collar bone and nerves twitch everywhere. He kisses you and you lose yourself in it, drawing yourself into it, but much too soon it is over and he is back to teasing you.

"Ginny, c'mon, you can't really mean that, that's totally cruel-"

"It's not cruel at all, Harry James Potter, it's the way things go in this life. Now, are you going to be cooperative, or are we going to do this the hard way?" Your eyes glint maliciously and Harry's emerald eyes dart to the old school ties in your left hand, to your black lace bra peeking between the buttons of your blouse, and back at the ties before he backs up onto the bed.

You snicker heartily as you lean in to kiss him. You're about to get your revenge.


	10. Goodbye

**g o o d b y e**

_-Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything. It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it. –Trey Parker and Matt Stone-_

" '_And I just wanted to say g-goodbye..'_." He's reading the note. His voice cracks on a high note, and you wish you weren't listening. You wanted this to be quick and clean. He wasn't supposed to find the note like this.

Your family shouldn't be gathered outside of your room in St. Mungo's mental health ward. You shouldn't be here in the first place. But you are, and you can hear them crying on the other side of the door. You can hear Harry reading the note, and you know this isn't fair to them, you know this wasn't how it was supposed to have happened.

They're coming through the door, coming past the man who's been assigned to watch you in case you try to off yourself again. You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to be asleep. The magical machines by your bedside beep with the steady rhythm of your heart. You hear them settle down, talking in low voices.

"_Why_?" That's George, and he's whispering. It breaks your heart. Under the thin hospital blanket, you tug down your long sleeve that coveres the gauze and stitches on your wrist. "Why, Ginny? Why now, why?" You open your eyes, looking down at your lap. And George begins to sob, your mother puts her arm around his shoulders.

"Ginny." Bill's voice is commanding, and you look into the depths of blue, willing yourself not to cry. "Why?" One simple word, but the explanation couldn't be more complicated.

You choose the easy way out of this conversation.

"I wanted to say goodbye."


	11. Delight

**d e l i g h t  
**"_A lotta people talk, shut the hell up, sneak out a bear in a Styrofoam cup, I'm gonna start singin' so don't interrupt, we gonna have a good time…"  
__- Good Times_, Charlie Robinson

Black eyeliner? House. Weird Sisters tee shirt? Check. Obscenely tight jeans that you haven't squeezed yourself into since you were fifteen and your mother would kill you dead if she saw you in them now? (Painfully) check. Tickets? House.

"Harry? Ready to go, love?" You twist your neck, sore from all the Quidditch training Wood has been putting you through in the past three weeks. _How _he_ got to be manager and coach of Holyhead Harpies I'll never know…_

Harry backs through the swinging kitchen door, speaking in his low voice.

"Yeah, hang on, I just need to put-" his rambling comes to a halt when he turns from the kitchen door. His green eyes are no longer obstructed by round glasses, as contacts take their place. His face is stubbly and he's wearing a tight, dark shirt with something called a "Led Zeppelin" on it.

When he sees you, his mouth drops and his eyes scale your entire body, from your toes to your boobs and back again.

"Holy-! Can we just stat in tonight instead? I mean, the kids are at Ron and Mione's and…" he's practically drooling and his eyes light up at the prospect of trying to get you out of these jeans.

You roll your eyes. "No, but you can cut me out of these things when we get back from the concert. Now, if you'll be so kind to explain, what the _hell _is a Led Zeppelin!?"


	12. Disturbed

**d i s t u r b e d  
**"_My education was dismal. I went to a series of schools for mentally disturbed teachers_._"_  
–Woody Allen

"Mmm… c'mon, Lil, it's a nice juicy steeeak!"

"It's not that bad, it's medium rare and salted, dad grilled it, it's really gooood!"

"Boys," Harry's tone is reprimanding, but gentle. The boys quit teasing Lily, who is munching on salad, newly vegetarian as of breakfast.

You have a headache and could really use some wine, quite and sleep. Dammit, now James is making obnoxiously loud chewing noises. Lily aims a kick at James, but misses and hits Al hard in the shin instead.

Al's eyes are watering and since it's James' fault that he got kicked, he picks up a forkful of peas and flings them at James, half of them landing on Harry's plate, half of them on Al, and quite a few in your hair. And fuck, they've crossed the line, you're just about to stand up when Lily speaks up.

"Do you know what you're eating?" she takes a bite of cucumber while the boys and Harry look at their plates and then at Lily. "Flesh," she says, winking at you. You grin back, and sit back in your seat to watch the show.

"That steak had a face, morons. It had arteries and veins and blood and probably had a baby cow, which was taken from it at birth to be raised on a low protein diet, to give it soft flesh, which is now on some rich person's plate, between two pieces of rye, smothered in gravy. And you're there gulping down it's poor defenseless mother."

She cleans her plate, but Harry, Al and James all look a little green.

"Mum, may I be excused?" You nod, still grinning. She leaves the table, her family disturbed.

Looks like tomorrow will be a salad night as well.


	13. Trust

**t r u s t  
**"_Nobody believes the official spokesman… but everyone trusts an unidentified source."  
_-Anonymous

There's the door. You can hear him stumbling, he must be drunk. Godammit, he's three hours late for the fifth night in a row! You can hear him humming sluggishly as he sneaks through the kitchen and snags three or four brownies that Al made for dessert tonight. Must have the munchies, too.

He's padding softly through the living room, he didn't take his sneakers off. You can now hear what he's humming, "Weasley Is Our King" and in the darkness even in your anger, you can't help but grin at the familiarity of it.

He's three feet away from the recliner in the dark sitting room which you have to go through to get to the stairs.

There's an odd smell about him, overpowered by the stench of cologne, weed, liquor and chocolate from the brownies. _Ah._ Sex. Your sixteen year-old son smells of sex. Where did you go wrong?

He's walking right by the chair now, and you're about to open your mouth- but in the dim light you can see tears sliding down James' cheeks and you sit by silently, watching as he drags himself up the stairs.

You lower your head into your arms and sigh. You wish Harry would return from his mission. You suck at this parenting thing. He's the good parent, not you.

"Why am I such a horrible mother?" you whisper into the darkness, where unbeknownst you, at the top of the stairs, James turns and whispers back at you,

"_I'm sorry, mum."_


	14. Wishes

**w i s h e s  
**"_There are more people who wish to be loved then there are willing to love."  
_-Anonymous

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Goddamit, I wish we'd be home in time!"

You roll your eyes and tap the steering wheel. James has rubbed off on Albus, obviously.

"Language, Albus Severus Potter."

"Mum, we're missing Canons versus Bats! C'moooon! Can't this stupid car move _any_ faster?! Oh, I wish you'd let granddad install the flyer thingy in here, then we could just fly home and sit by the radio with all the cousins and listen to Uncle Lee announce!"

"Albus, I cannot make the traffic go any faster. For Merlin's sake it's just a Quidditch game! Ron, Hermione, George, Katie, Angelina, Fleur, Bill, Percy and Penelope will be there all week! Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Tante Appolline and Uncle what's-his-nuts, Fleur's father, their coming with granddad and grandmum Weasley on Wednesday on time to see your brother perform." He groans and taps the window. You know you shouldn't be too hard on him, because twenty years ago you were the same way with Quidditch. You blow red hair out of your face and turn up the air condition.

"Uh, mum? Green light! Finally! We might get home in time to check the score! Ha, James so owes me ten galleons!"

"You bet your brother ten galleons that the Bats would win?"

"Wrong, mum! I bet him five galleons that we'd get home in time, two that I wouldn't get in trouble for saying the f word, and three for you not noticing that I broke the air conditioning!"

Ergh, humidity. You roll down the windows, roll your eyes, make a face and take a swig of warm bottled water as the car rushes along.

You've never been one to lose a bet.


	15. News

**n e w s  
**"_Instead of warning pregnant women not to drink, I think female alcoholics should be told not to have sex."  
_-George Carlin

"Erm, dad, grandmum, mum, Auntie Ginny, I'll tell you guys, Scorp's telling the people in the garden…"

You're helping your mother cook Lily's birthday meal, she's in the back garden, teaching the gnome's French swear words and accompanied by Lysandra and Alice, Neville and Luna's twin daughters.

"Hmm?" says a very heavily pregnant Hermione whilst Ron rubs her shoulders and steals potatoes from the pan, every time getting smacked with a wooden spoon hard across his knuckles by a very errant Mrs. Weasley.

Rose breathes and you sense there's something wrong, what the hell could be wrong?

"You haven't been made Head Girl, have you?" says Ron, rubbing his sore knuckles, "Because then we'll have to disown you, you know-"

"OW!" (Mum smacked him in the back of the head with her spoon.) You smirk into the bowl where you're directing your wand to shell peas by hand.

Rose grips her stomach and all in one breath exclaims, "I'mpregnant."

There's a sudden yelp and people look over to Ron. He had been snatching another potato, and at his daughters words had lain his hand in the frying pan, resulting in a severe burn.

Hermione looks shocked, mum's started crying, Ron's still cursing heavily under his breath and you have an insane desire to laugh.

All the sudden Bill comes storming in from upstairs, causing a nice diversion.

"Where is he? Where the FUCK IS HE?!" he's practically roaring and his eyes glint at Rose and then swivel to the door where they can hear Scorpius' voice from the garden, and then people cheering and slapping Scorpius' back in congratulations.

Bill's voice is low and deadly, "I'm going to kill Scorpius Malfoy."

And you laugh.


	16. Blind

b l i n d

**b l i n d**

"_Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every bind." _

–William Shakespeare

"They still don't see it, do they?" you murmur, Harry's arms wrapped around your waist, his scraggly beard and nose buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling. You're watching all the cousins and kids in the garden. Watching how Scorpius tenderly sling an arm around Rose's waist, her bump-of-a-stomach showing through her PotterWatch t-shirt.

"See what?" Harry's not paying attention. You sigh.

"Rosie and Malfoy Midget Numero Uno," you whisper, watching your daughter Lily who gazes at the happy couple longingly from across the courtyard. "They don't see how much she wants that. They don't see how much she loves Scorpius," a lump rises in your throat, and you try your best to swallow over it.

"Don't try meddling, Gin. Lily will get over it- much as I hate to see her hurt, she should focus more on schoolwork than drawing and boys. She's a Slytherin, after all. She'll get over it," he repeated- as if you hadn't heard in the first place.

You don't say anything, but think miserably to yourself, _that's what they said when I fell in love with you, Harry._


	17. Blaze

**AN: **Iris is Katie and George's daughter. Percy's daughter is still named Molly even though he's married to Penelope. :)

**b l a z e  
**"_Ginny clearly visible because of her vivid Weasley hair…"  
_-Order of the Phoenix

"POTTER!" you scream, losing control, the pain overtaking you, and in the midst of everything you can't help but find it ironic that you've done this twice already, why should this one be so much more painful? "_YOU!_ POTTER! This is your entire fault getting me knocked up! You get the couch for a MONTH! Maybe TWO! I haven't yet decided- AAAAARGH!"

And of course your mother has to interrupt, "Breathe, Ginevra, in through your nose, out through your mouth, all at once!"

You scream and breathe and the entities of Bill-and-Fleur and Percy-and-Penelope and Charlie-and-Wood and George-and-Katie are cheering you on, and James, Victoire, Teddy, Iris and Molly is grossing out and Albus is quiet, he doesn't know what to think, and you're crushing Harry and Ron's hands and a very-pregnant Hermione is videotaping with a Muggle camcorder… and again, if this were any other day and anybody else were laying in the bed, you couldn't help but wonder if it was allowed that there were seventeen people in a St. Mungo's delivery room, not accounting for the Healers and the actual woman giving birth.

And then someone is crying and it's not you. The words no one is expecting "You have a _daughter_," are spoken in the relative silence. And a Healer hands her to you.

And you're crying because she's a _girl_, and she's got a blaze of red hair and Harry's saying she looks like Fred and a million other reasons, but no words could ever explain the joy a mother feels when she first lays eyes on her child.

And plus, it's a _girl_.


	18. Start Over

**s t a r t o v e r  
**"_Though no one can go back and make a new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending."_ –Carl Bard

"Dean, Ginny?! FUCKING _DEAN_?! _I-shared-a-dorm-room-with-him-for-eight-years-Dean?_ Fuck, Gin! He's one of my best fucking friends and you SLEPT WITH HIM?!" Harry is errant he looks quite deranged. You don't want him to start throwing things, though…

"Harry!" You're trying to keep your voice calm but there's a certain shriek to it nonetheless, "Harry, for Merlin's sake, I was fifteen, it was five years ago, please, calm down-" you want to be rational about this, for God's sake you thought you were _in love_.

"I was _hurt_!" you continue, "I was cutting, I was throwing up everything I ate and running miles a day and I wanted to feel loved, goddammit! It was before you and I…" you've never told anyone but Dean and Hermione this, but somehow Harry knows, and Harry makes a snarling noise in the back of his throat and curl back in your chair. He'd never hit you, but somehow instinct takes over.

You close your eyes and suddenly there is a slam and the roar of an engine as Harry starts his car.

Time to pick up the pieces and start over, once again.


	19. Hold

**h o l d  
**_"I love you smile at me, I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near...I believe this is heaven to no one else but me."_ –Sarah McLachlan

He's holding you. You're not really paying attention, though. How can you pay attention to Harry's arms when it's not even fucking raining? Isn't it supposed to rain at funerals? You've always thought that, the sky is crying and all that.

It's tough on the mourning people when the sun is shining and it's a brilliantly nice day when he's just died. It's nearly mocking, in a sadistic way. You know _he_ (you can't say his name) wouldn't want it to rain, but it's hard to pay attention the preacher's voice when you're sweating profusely in your black dress and hat and heels. You're getting blisters.

Harry's hand squeezes yours, and suddenly you're glad it's sunny out.

You've had enough rain in your lives.


	20. Draw

**d r a w  
**"_Art is not a handcraft, it is the transmission of feeling that the artist has experienced."_ -Leo Tolstoy

It started out all innocently enough, really. You'd just been cleaning out your school trunk, because tomorrow you'll be packing up and moving in with Harry… your heart beats wildly at the thought of it. You're twenty and just yesterday your remember being ten and seeing the small boy with glasses board the Hogwarts Express.

The yellowed and crumpled piece of parchment was stuck between pages ninety six and ninety eight of _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Five._ You have no idea why you still have the book- after all, you were a fifth year five years ago. You pull it out, careful not to tear it. You think it's just an old note of a lost diagram that you were supposed to hand in. The faded ink lines surprise you as they are twisted into shapes; they depict a naked girl wrapped in sheets, laying upside down on a bed, laughing. _You._ Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment you have a mad desire to stuff the parchment back into the book and chuck it across the room, but you don't- you _can't._

You smooth out the paper and trace the outline of your knees in the air. Why does this affect you so much? Because some part of you knows that no matter how much you love Harry, there is something about Dean, still after all these years? Because even though Harry was your first love, Dean was the first one to love you back, the first one to hold you and kiss your cuts and tell you that you were beautiful. And Harry was just a thought then, just something small, like an irritating mosquito, that buzzed to the back of your mind and was only to be taken out and ridiculed and admired when Dean was far away.

You flip over the picture, expecting to see a blank space, perhaps a date, or a "To: Ginny, Love always, Dean" or something like that. But instead there is something that you find only too appropriate, something he knew you loved, your favourite Muggle tragedy. The last three verses are scrawled in Dean's neat script, flowing together. The period at the end is a sharp jab, like he was angry and stabbed the parchment.

_But I can give thee more:  
For I will raise her statue in pure gold;  
That while Verona by that name is known,  
There shall no figure at such rate be set  
As that of true and faithful Juliet._

_As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;  
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!_

_A glooming peace this morning with it brings;  
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:  
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;  
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:  
For never was a story of more woe  
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo._


	21. Veins

**v e i n s  
**"_Suicide is man's way of telling God, 'You can't fire me, I _quit_!'"_ –Bill Maher

Dear Fred,

Gin tried to kill herself last night.

Nice way to start off a letter, eh? Telling you your little sister tried to kill herself using one of my shaving razors… If you were still alive, you'd probably throttle me for being an insolent git and not taking care of her. But the thing is, Forge (is it horrible of me to grin at that?), you're the only one of who I can ask advice. Everyone else is grieving. Not to say I'm not, for shit I am, but… you know, George has got Katie, your parents have each other, and each of your siblings have a significant other, including Ginny.

I'm sitting next to her bed in Mungo's, and she looks like an angel while she's sleeping. She's getting all thin again, I hope she's not making herself throw up again.

Why would she do that to herself, Fred? She said she only left a letter telling all of us she loved us, because she wanted to say goodbye. If I wouldn't have found her, it would-

Sorry. It's tough to write about. You of all people would know that.

And you're a right git, you know that? Leaving Ginny, Ron, your parents and me to stew in this mess. Sure, we kept busy with funerals and rebuilding and re-instating and all that shit, but after the day is done and we're all laying in bed, thinking- it would've driven anyone to insanity.

Can't you look after her? She says she wants her big brother back.

Help me, Fred.

I'm screwed.

I love her.

I'm sorry.

-H.

P.S. Don't give Snape too much shit about liking my mum, 'k? Say hi to Sirius, Remus and my parents, alright? Thanks, Fred.


	22. Strength

**s t r e n g t h  
**"_Strength__ of character means the ability to overcome resentment against others, to hide hurt feelings, and to forgive quickly.__" –_Anonymous

"Ooh, strawberries!" James nicks one from the bowl in the sink, earning him a punch in the arm from Lily.

"Dang, little sister! Where'd you learn to punch like that?" He steals another strawberry and gets whacked on the back of his head by Albus' wooden spoon. You snigger into your tea as you watch your children's antics.

"You taught me, James," says Lily in her slow, quiet voice, "That time in second year when Septimus told me I had a nice butt." She tucks a strand of dyed-black hair behind her pierced ear and James sniggers.

"Remind me why you're baking cupcakes again, Al? That is beyond flaming ga-" the rest of his mockery is silenced as Lily trod on his foot. You bury your nose in the _Prophet._

"Hold the phone…" says James, staring slowly between slowly between Albus and Lily and then at you, beseechingly. You shuffle the prophet up to hide your guilty face. "Al… _are_ you gay?" He asks tentatively.

Albus is ignoring James prying hazel gaze as he furiously mashes chopped strawberries into the cupcake batter. Lily licks her fingers and you take a sip of tea behind your _Prophet_ just to have something to do with your hands. A nasty ringing silence lingers until Al finally mutters a small, defeated "Yes," You lower the paper slowly, better to observe James' reaction. If he freaks you'll kill him.

James lets out a low whistle, a look of comprehension dawning on his handsome face. "So it was Scorpius," he says carefully. Albus nods and says "That worked out well, didn't it? Cheating bastard went and knocked up my cousin, didn't he?!" Nobody says anything for a moment, and you think you see a few angry tears drip into the bowl of cupcake batter.

Then to everyone's general astonishment, James pulls Al into a bone-crushing hug, and mutters a promise to Al, "I am so proud of you, Al. That took guts, kiddo. Next time we see Malfoy, remind me to kick his arse."


	23. Fight

**f i g h t  
**"_This isn't Burger King. You're going to have it _my_ way. Also, did I mention that feeding picky eaters _sucks_?!"_ –My mum

Sometimes you feel like a short-order cook.

"What do you want for dinner?"

_No icky green shi- stuff._ amends the ever-demanding James. _Noodles!_ wants Albus. _No meat or eggs or dairy, mum, please._ Says polite little Lily. her cheekbones prominent under her glasses.

But tonight you really don't give a flying fuck, you want something other than Maccas. You use an old recipe of your mum's to make chicken, salad and pasta. You set it on the oak table and all three children grimace.

"I'm locking the kitchen after this meal. Eat now, or be hungry. Breakfast is at ten tomorrow." Everyone must recognize the serious edge to your voice, because they all delve in- James to the chicken and pasta, Albus to the pasta only, and Lily picking zucchini pieces out of the angel hair.

"Lily, no pasta? Trying to keep down the pounds for someone special?" teases Harry gently, "You're baby fat's coming off really quickly." He pinches the non-existent flab at her elbow in a fatherly way, and Lily's eyes well up with tears as she leans away from him, grimacing. She stabs a zucchini with unnecessary force, and chews it without saying anything.

There's a tense silence around the table. You want to reach over and smack Harry upside the head, and it looks like James has trod on Harry's foot, because he winces.

But before you can comfort Lily, Harry realizes that he's said something wrong. (The bruised toes probably helped.)

"Lil, what I mean is, erm… you're beautiful the way you are?" Lily glares at him, letting her fork fall to her plate with a clatter.

She stalks out, looking offended, and James puts his head in his hands. "Well done, dad. Now she won't eat for a few days."

Harry looks perplexed. "What's wrong?" Albus sighs and continues shoveling pasta into his mouth.

James practically bangs his head on the table with frustration. "She thinks she's fat!"

Harry looks at me and Al, and then back at James. "But she isn't!"

"But she _thinks_ she is, dad."

* * *

**AN:** Heyo, most faithful reviewers! Twenty three down, seventy seven to go! :D I intended this one to be a nice fluffish oneshot with Harry teasing Ginny about being picky but then it was like a bunny struck me and all the sudden OH HAI MR ANGST, YOU'RE LATE. Ha. Also, don't you love the quote at the top? My friend Cody's a bitch to feed, because he's so picky. I don't know how his fiancée's going to cook for him… Also, for you non-Australian folk, Maccas is McDonalds. Haha. My friend dearest Cuba had to explain that to me. xD Read and review, lovelies!


	24. Price

**p r i c e  
**"_Craftiness must have clothes, but truth loves to go naked."_ –English proverb

"James, these are utterly ridiculous!" you stare at the brown dragon-hide gloves behind the glass case. "Eight galleons for chaser gloves! _Eight_! When I played they were a few sickles! _What_ is the world coming to?"

Harry chuckles and Al smiles brightly as he tugs Harry's hand and whines about wanting an ice cream. Lily doesn't look up from her coloring book.

"Ginny, c'mon, it's not like we can't afford them, let him get the ones with the grips on the thumbs." Harry's always been one to talk reason into you.

And grudgingly you fork over eight galleons, against your better judgment. It's still engrained in you never to be frivolous with money, always save and never splurge.

_What the hel_l, you think as you watch James happily put them on and run out of the store with them, _the galleons came from appreciative admirers anyways_.


	25. Wall

**w a l l  
**"_Sometimes we put up walls. Not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down."  
_-PostSecret

Why are so many people in your flat? You're so confused and nobody will explain anything to you properly. (Granted, you're in no fit condition to ask. Or even speak, for that matter.) But when you look at them with your big doe eyes, they just smile and nod and hand you another plate of food.

And that's another thing- all the bloody _food_! What happened to mild fruits and vegetables? Or just takeout? No, now it's rich creams and sauces over pasta with beef and rolls and all sorts of horrible fattening things that you know your stomach can't handle. They couldn't leave well-enough alone.

One moment you're wrapped up in your Chudley Canons bedspread, and you haven't showered in two weeks and your telly is covered in noodles from when _Dr. Who_ pissed you off and you chucked your pad thai at it. (You know you and the flat must reek, but to your nose it's a comforting sort of smell and you dwell in it.) The phone's been ringing off the hook but you don't really give a damn.

(How can you care about anything? You're just going to die, anyways.)

The next moment Harry's banging down the door to your flat hauling with him his trunks and Ron and Hermione. Thanks to a undetectable magical extension charm (_thank God for Hermione_, Harry says. But you aren't really paying attention because who _cares_?) Everyone fits quite comfortably and they're still able to have some privacy. Not that you get any of that these days. Privacy, that is.

And there are always people awake with you. Everything sharp has been taken away. (the knife that sat next to you on your bed to keep you some semblance of inanimate company has been stowed away by Harry. And of course you know where it is, but you don't have the energy to get out of bed.)

The last straw is when mum comes over to give you a bath, bringing with her George, Katie, Bill and Teddy. You just want them to _leave_.

But as you watch them move around your apartment, talk to you with love in their voices and hand you plate after plate of food (mum says you're at least seventy pounds less than you should weigh) you're heart swells.

_The walls begin to crumble._


	26. Nothing

**n o t h i n g  
**"_Teenage boys, goaded by their surging hormones, run in packs like the primal horde. They have only a brief season of exhilarating liberty between control by their mothers and control by their wives."  
_- Camille Page

"Where's James?" You ask, as twelve-year-old Albus skids into the kitchen, his socks slipping on the tile as he runs up to you, nearly tripping over Lily, who's laying on the floor. (Having a Lily-moment.)

"Ohmygawdmum!Jameshasa_girl_inhisroomandthey'resnoggingonhis_bed_!" It takes you a moment to process this. James is only fifteen and he- has a girl? In his _room_? On his _bed_? Oh no he _didn't_!

You leave the spoon in the pan, fly up four flights of stairs with Al behind you and Harry behind him. (Hopefully a house elf will think to stir the sauce before it scorches…)

Not even thinking to use your wand, (and not really needing to) the door bursts open. There's a flash of light and a shriek as a half-naked brunette falls out of James' bed and lands hard on the floor.

James starts cursing as they both scramble for clothes- his deep curses mingling with her shrill Scot-accented apologies.

Then they're both standing before you and Harry looking haphazardly flushed and their clothing mangled. The girl slips her hand reassuringly into James' and squeezes it. He grins sappily back at her. You've seen _that look_ before.

"James Sirius Potter… care to introduce us to your… _friend_?" You know your tone is icy, but James doesn't flinch.

"Mum, dad… this is Kasey, she's my girlfriend." Simple and to the point, doesn't try to evade it. He's learned well…

"Hello Kasey," Harry smiles warmly at her, but yelps when you trod on his foot. You're trying to make a point!

"And what in the name is all that is holy are you both doing, half-clothed, on your bed?"

You expect excuses about hormones and lots of "but-dad-said-we-could!"s, but instead James pulls Kasey close, looks into her gray eyes and says unabashedly,

"Because I'm in love."

_Well._

_That_ was unexpected.

* * *

**AN:** For Laa Chase. Is this a good characterisation of James then, dammit?! ;)

EDIT: "American" was changed to "Scottish." Happy, people? xP


	27. Right

**r i g h t  
**"_Laughter is the way to true love."  
_-Anonymous

You're both twirling around and around. The ceiling is spinning and when you crash into each other and fall over giggling, the room goes in circular motions above your blurry eyes; and you're both hung in vertigo.

Beer bottles litter the grimy basement floor of Grimmauld Place, but both of you are having so much fun neither of you care that you keep making a mess and slopping things everywhere.

You could say so many things about love and relationships right now, but you are both so completely _drunk_. So you just stagger to your feet and he spins with you again (like the way you and Ron used to spin together, when you were little). You spin and spin until you both feel like vomiting all over the floor.

(But Kreacher would not take kindly to that.) So you crawl into his arms and he hiccups his way into an alcohol-induced stupor.

The way his limbs and yours are entangled is absolutely right.

And with this comforting (and sappy! But still comforting nonetheless) thought, you drift off into dark abyss.


	28. Listen

**l i s t e n  
**"_Zounds! I was never so thumped with words since I called my brother's father dad."  
_-William Shakespeare

**faeriepttr:** she knows.  
**alsev:** well hello to you, too, lils  
**faeriepttr:** shut up and listen, al. mum _knows_.  
**alsev:** how can she know? I swear to Circe I didn't tell her!!  
**faeriepttr:** I know you didn't. james did.  
**alsev:** what?! I'll kill the fucker! you said you made him promise not to tell!  
**faeriepttr:** I did. he obviously didn't mean the promise.  
**alsev:** damn…  
**faeriepttr:** I know. so he walked in on me the other day…  
**alsev:** what?!  
**faeriepttr:** I know. I _know_, al. it was _bad_. blood was everywhere. he totally freaked and went running for dad. only it was mum who came traipsing back up the stairs with him.  
**alsev:** he always was a mummy's boy…  
**faeriepttr:** al! you're missing the point!! can you believe how that must have looked to mum? me with a knife in my hand and blood gushing everywhere?!  
**alsev**: like you were trying to kill yourself  
**faeriepttr**: like I was trying to kill myself.  
**alsev:** so. mum must be thinking about sending you to a mental ward or something.  
**faeriepttr:** I KNOW!! what am I going to do, al? why did you have to leave for Norway? I miss you. come home. please. I don't know what to do, al.  
**alsev:** don't worry lily. I'm coming home.

* * *

**AN:** This chapter was born after too much cough medicine, a headache, veggie meatloaf and procrastinating to make a grocery list. Lily's about fifteen here, making Al eighteen.


	29. Pointless

**p o i n t l e s s  
**"_The moral man knows it's wrong to cheat on his wife, whereas the ethical man actually wouldn't."  
_-Dr. Donald Mallard, NCIS

Dean was the worst mistake that you've gone back to. You know Harry knows, but it doesn't keep you from telling him you're working late and falling into Dean's chocolate arms, wanting something different.

You love Harry, you do. But somehow it's not the same. Harry once confessed that he once thought about _Hermione_ when you were having sex. You gave him a stone-cold glare, and said nothing. You knew how guilty he felt, and your unsaid confession lingers next to his. _I was thinking about Dean…_

So it's off to get "coffee" (really just a quick fuck behind whatever shop you can find and then it's back home to the kids and work and washing dishes.)

The first time Dean takes you to his flat, you feel almost honored that he thinks of you as more than just a quick shag. That maybe, maybe there might be something there, something that started when you were fifteen.

The night is bliss; he's bought you roses and champagne and ha! Harry thinks your in Paris for the weekend.

Then suddenly your cell phone starts chirping as the sun is coming up and Dean chuckles as he kisses down your throat, "aren't you going to answer that?"

You roll your eyes and groan. It rings twice more, and on the fourth annoying round of _The Chicken Dance_ (James' been messing with your phone again…) you answer with a breathy "hello?"

"Ginny?" says Harry's voice, exhausted, from the other end, "Can you meet me at St. Mungo's? It's Lily. She- she was raped last night."

The world stops as you drop your phone. Harry's voice and Dean's mix together with chorus's of "Ginny? Gin?! _Ginny_!"

The world has stopped.


	30. Destruction

**d e s t r u c t i o n**

_He's the one who likes all the pretty songs.  
And he likes to sing along. And he likes to shoot his gun.  
But he knows not what it means. Knows not what it means. And I say yeah.  
_-Nirvana, _In Bloom_

You know how it goes; the lies and the half-assed hope. The long sleeved shirts and all the secrecy. Nobody else seems to see it, not even when Harry's doing laundry and finds a baggie of black tar in his jeans, or when a box cutter slips out of Lilly's wallet.

Nobody else wants to see Al quietly and slowly, painfully, self-destruct. Lilly has unknowingly put so much pressure on him; he has practically raised her, because she wants no one else. They smell of cigarette failure and heroin indecisions.

She descends quickly into the blackness, into insanity, and Al isn't far behind. They've always done everything together, and this is no exception.

And all you can do is scream silently as you watch your children spiral downwards into their addictions.


	31. Blossom

**b l o s s o m  
**"_They hate their phobias and want to get rid of them. But these women with anorexia simply think '_this is the way we are_.'"  
_-Walter Kaye

As you stand in front of the full length mirror (dripping wet from your shower) you can't help but be amazed (and disgusted) by what you see. Previously the mirror was covered with newspaper; leaves of the _Prophet_'s want ads spell-o taped up so you couldn't look at yourself. Your family thinks you're healing, thinks you can handle it. Hermione and Harry took the papers down yesterday.

Hip bones that once nearly poked through your yellowing skin are covered by a thickening layer of milky, freckled flesh. The space between your thighs where the sun shines through is lessening; your sweats don't fall off of you anymore. Your stomach is no longer concave, no ribs visible; instead it is flat and strong with toned muscles and a waist.

Your arms are no longer spaghetti noodles; they are muscular and more freckled than any other part of your body; toned from long hours on the Qudditch field throwing Quaffles- back on your team. They've missed you, they're losses are numerous and they are nearly last in the league. You want to help raise them to the top again.

Your hair is a rat's nest of stick-straight ginger hair, there's mascara and eyeliner all over your face, your legs smell like cosmetic wax and stick together (bloody showers are still being supervised by stupid mum, you can't help but think bitterly. No razors for you…) and scars cover your thighs, calves, wrists, chest, stomach and arms. You don't understand how people can see this is beautiful, but Harry has snuck up on you from behind, wrapping you in a large fluffy white towel, and setting his chin on your head as you both stare into the mirror.

"Ginny you're gorgeous," he says as he blows lightly in your ear and kisses your neck gently.

And as the towel drops lightly to the hardwood floor, you know he means it.


	32. Gone

**g o n e**

"_The great Nurse, Death, takes each of us by the hand and says, "it's time to go home, it's your bedtime, child of the earth."  
_-Joshua Loth Liebman

People say it, but you will never understand until you personally have gone through it. The pain of losing a child is the greatest pain one can fathom. Beyond that, even. A literal piece of yourself is missing; so much more precious than even a limb.

It is your fault. There is no other explanation. You will never get over this. If losing Fred was torture, losing your only daughter is Crucio times one million.

Al is taking a week out of treatment for the funeral. James won't speak to anyone. You have never seen Harry cry so hard in your life.

You keep her razorblade and her note in your bedside drawer. You will never forget.

And you will be strong for her.


	33. Devotion

**AN:** This chapters are not in chronological order. (Just thought I'd point that out for those of you who didn't realize.) This would take place probably about a month after Chapter 25 (Wall.)  
**WARNING:** This may be triggering. Please proceed with caution.

* * *

**d e v o t i o n**  
"_True love is like ghosts, which everyone talk about, and few have seen."  
_-Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Ginny,

I'm sitting two feet away from you, in Grimmauld Place, writing you. It seems odd, because I could just wake you up and talk to you. But sometimes I just do better with writing things down. And I want you to be able to read this whenever you want, so you can understand what we're doing isn't trying to hurt you. On the other hand, maybe this is just being written so I can vent, and I'll burn it afterwords and you'll never read it. So, here goes, s'pose.

I know you're mad, Gin. I know you're pissed and at the moment you pretty much hate all of us. It makes my stomach hurt that you're in so much pain that you have to do this to yourself. We're only doing it because we love you, you know. Because I can't bear to see fresh cuts on you, or to see you lose another pound. I just didn't know how to do this alone, Ginny.

So, as you know, I showed up first, with Ron and Hermione. And then your mum and then your brothers and pretty soon your flat was just too full of people so we left, and you and I moved here, along with everyone else, temporarily.

I know you hate leaving this room, this room that has become our room. I've tried to make it nice, isn't that pathetic? Painted the walls light blue and hung up some of your paintings. Cleaned and put in new flooring and opened the windows. I've tried to make it pretty, to make it perfect for you. To make it less like it used to be. This house reminds me so much of Sirius, but somehow it's comforting, too. I can see us living here for the long term, after we've cleaned and painted and knocked down some of the walls. 'Course, that might actually involve you getting out of bed to do something once in a while.

That was harsh, sorry. I'm not trying to judge but sometimes I just get _so frustrated_. So _angry_, because everything was finally going right- no more You-Know-Who, no more hiding, no more war. And I came back and we just sort of fell into each others arms. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe we should have stayed apart, taken it slowly. Maybe I should have worked on myself first. But we didn't. And I didn't. And you fell apart. Call it masochism, call it whatever you like, but some part of me feels like if I hadn't barged straight back into your life, maybe you'd be doing better.

_Maybe_- such a silly word. We can't really know now, can we? What's done is done, and I'm here and you're still alive, eating your mum's cooking and waxing your legs because nobody trusts you with sharp objects, which is so pathetic. Honestly. You're never alone, how could you possibly hurt yourself now? Everything's locked away, where you can't get it. You're just barely underweight now, much healthier than when we first started this rescue mission.

Even though you're angry, I can tell some of the old you is coming back. The other day you smacked Ron upside the head with a wooden spoon for teasing me. And your sarcasm is back. Not bitterness, finally. Wit. I could've kissed you.

I want to kiss you again, love. I want to hold you and play with your hair and kiss you and see you smile. I miss healthy Ginny, loving Ginny, spitfire Ginny. Not this half-starved, sliced up abused Ginny.

Maybe I went about this the wrong way, trying to help you get better. Maybe we shouldn't be forcing it. People say you have to want it, to get better. But you didn't want it, wouldn't want it. I was so afraid that if I didn't step in, you would have died. And you dying would have killed me. You are my everything, Ginny. You are my life now. So I did the only thing I knew how- the only thing I could do, I just loved you. Do love you.

I hope that when you are better and we're old and gray and have kids, I hope you can know that I did this for you, because I only want the woman I love to be healthy. Because I only want the best for you, and because I love you.

You are everything.

Love, always,

Harry


End file.
